When Alice says Art is a gifted baker, shemeansit. The man was actually shortlisted forThe British Baking Championship—passed the interviews, the grueling test bakes, the screen tests, the whole lot. And then he turned down the spot because he’d just accepted the job as Alice’s protection officer.
A softdingfrom the oven cuts through the air. Art checks the bread with a toothpick, nods once to himself, and slides the tray onto a cooling rack. He wipes his hands on his apron and crosses the kitchen to Alice, pulling her into his space for a warm, unhurried kiss on her temple. “Dinner go all right?”
“Yes,” she says, holding on to him for a moment longer than usual. “But we need dessert and heavy emotional counsel.”
Art nods, like this is a normal request. “I’ll plate three, then.”
Alice tugs me to the sofa. I pull an oversized knitted throw across my knees. She folds into the seat beside me. “How was work?” she asks Art.
“Same old. Same old.” He sets down the plates and sinks down beside her, letting out a long sigh. “I started the morning mucking out the stables. Then I spent two hours posing for tourists who wanted selfies with the horse. Then it was back to the stables for paperwork and more mucking out.” He nudges Alice’s knee with a tired grin. “Not quite as glamorous as I bet your day was.”
“You’d lose that wager,” she says, reaching for a piece of bread. “In my Structural Analysis module today, theprofessor spent forty minutes insisting that the derivation of Euler buckling was inspiring. I seriously considered having security show up and tell him my father needed me for an emergency.”
I laugh. “Sounds just like my Mechanical Structures class last semester.”
Art blinks, looking back and forth between the two of us. “I have absolutely no idea what you two are talking about, but I’m very proud of you both anyway.”
“And we’re proud of you,” Alice says, pecking him on the cheek. “Actually, Art...” Her tone shifts, becoming softer, more intentional. “Kaori needs our advice. Tactical advice.”
Art’s posture changes instantly. His shoulders square. His focus sharpens. He turns to me. “What’s on your mind?”
“I have some problems at work,” I begin.
I give him the abbreviated version, sticking to the facts. Alice, who’s already heard the gory details, focuses on her dessert while Art listens the way only a professional can—intensely focused, offering no interruptions or knee-jerk reactions that might derail the narrative.
When I finally finish, he carefully sets his fork down. “Threatening to expose your identity to force cooperation crosses a significant legal line. In plain English, Kaori? It’s blackmail.”
My heart gives an uncomfortable lurch. The word “blackmail”hits harder when it’s spoken by a man who knows the law.
“What should I do? Mr. Harris has made it clear he’ll ruin Theo and me if I don’t follow through with his demands.” My voice cracks. “I don’t see any way to escape this. No matter what I do, I lose.”
Art doesn’t offer any pity. He simply nods, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. “That’s a fair assessment,” he says slowly. “But you’re wrong about one thing—you’re not trapped. There are protections in place. If this becomes a criminal matter, his ability to speak publicly about you or this situation becomes severely restricted. He knows that, which is exactly why he’s trying to keep you isolated and panicked.”
I blink. I hadn’t considered the criminal element.
“Do you have anyone you can trust inside the company? Someone in HR, perhaps?” Art asks.
Ela’s face immediately comes to mind. We haven’t spent much time together outside of trivia nights, but I know I can count on her integrity.
After Mr. Harris cornered me, I gave her a call and spoke to her about a hypothetical “friend” in a complicated dating situation with a superior, testing the waters to see how HR would react. She didn’t pry or judge. She just offered me advice on how to disclose it properly to protect both parties. It gave me hope.
Theoshouldimmediately pull me from Vortex Rise, but for now, we agreed—okay, I haven’t actually said anything to him, but Ela and I have discussed the implications. In theory.
I explained the situation to her with as much professional carefully-worded vagueness as I could muster, and thankfully, she’s an expert at reading between the lines. She didn’t push for names, and I didn’t offer them. We just both stood there, acknowledging the elephant in the room without actually pointing at it.
—For the moment, I’m operating in a gray zone. I can stay on the project until I’m back in Orlando. After that,however, I’ll be pulled to avoid the conflict of interest. That’s the price I’m willing to pay.
“I have somebody.”
“That’s your first step,” Art says, tone firm but gentle. “Talk to her hypothetically. See what she recommends—how to protect yourself, how to document the threat—without putting anything on record or exposing yourself.”
I nod. I can do that.
“The second thing,” he continues, leaning forward, “is that I can help you dig into Mr. Harris. Odds are, you’re not his first victim. Men like that don’t usually start with blackmail; they build up to it. If he’s crossed the line before, there will be a trail.”
“What about Theo?” Alice asks.
“I need to feel him out. Despite how awful a father he’s been, I think Theo still hopes there’s something worth saving there.”
